Vargas Brothers Tattoo Clinic
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: AU. Young Lovino and Feliciano open a tattoo parlor in an upscale strip mall near Washington, DC. Unfortunately, their dreams of fame and fortune don't go as planned. Engmano; rated T for language and innuendo.
1. The Dream

_This is an old idea where I'd planned to have it focus on the M-rated adventures of Lovi and Feli with all their tattoo clients, but of course now that I'm writing it down, it's turning into Engmano. But that's okay, right?!_

_So then I tried to do it as a one-shot for "First Contact" but simply could not get it down to one manageable chapter. It's probably going to be 4-5 chapters._

…

**Chapter 1: The Dream.**

"Best of luck to you," Arthur said quietly, turning and walking out the door.

Lovino couldn't even watch him go, because his tears were flowing so freely. Dammit! Fifteen minutes ago he'd thought his life couldn't get any worse. Now he knew it could, and he guessed this was not yet rock bottom. He listened to the front door of the clinic open and close again, and he grabbed a paper towel to start blotting his face dry.

A few minutes later he managed to leave the workroom and slink into the reception area. It was dark out, but by the parking lot lights he could just see Arthur's beat-up little red car leaving the lot, taking the last of Lovino's sanity with it.

…

"Grandpa," young Lovino said diffidently, "you once promised me I could get a tattoo when I was fifteen. And tomorrow's my fifteenth birthday."

"Ve, yes! Oh, Grandpa, can't I get one too?" Feliciano bounced up and down eagerly. "Please?"

Their grandfather ruffled the younger boy's auburn hair. "I don't see why not," he smiled. "I did promise Lovino, and you're old enough too, now."

The elder boy was so relieved at the positive answer that he didn't even care about Feli sneaking in his first tattoo a year early. He smiled hesitantly at his grandfather, while Feli took turns hugging them both.

"But," Grandpa continued, "I will take you to the tattoo parlor, and I will have to be assured of the cleanliness and integrity of the place."

Lovino scowled. "Aw, that's just stupid. I'm going to look like a dumb little kid!"

"Do you really want to have a tattoo done in a place that's grungy, where the person operating the needles might be high or drunk?" Grandpa raised an eyebrow, but then smiled again. "Buck up. I'm not going to treat you like mental defectives. I just don't want my boys getting infected or injured."

The birthday boy shrugged. Once again he found it wiser to accept the opportunity and keep his mouth shut.

"Ve, I should go draw some design I want done. I haven't thought about this at _all._"

Grandpa chuckled. "You realize they probably can't do your own art. They have canned designs to work from."

"Oh, that's all right, ve. I still want to draw something!" Feli skipped out of the room, and Lovino, after a manly nod to his grandfather, followed.

…

The place where they'd ended up had been clean, but still somewhat intimidating, being in the basement of a guy's house (more like a shack) in the middle of nowhere. Lovino would never, never admit it, but he was very glad Grandpa had come along to approve of the place. A little nervous about the whole prospect, he opted for the design of a tomato on his wrist, small enough to be mostly covered by his watch face if he later found it too lame to show off. Feli got a showy floral design on the back of his right shoulder.

"That's just dumb," the nervous Lovino smirked. "You won't be able to see it!"

"It's not for me to see, ve, Lovi. It's for other people!"

Well, the idiot was always running around without a shirt in summertime, or during PE class. He'd get a lot of mileage out of it. But – a flower? How fucking girly. Grandpa hadn't objected to the design, though, and so, when the art was done, he took them out for dinner and they all joked about their new tattoos. Lovino felt very macho about it all, even though it still hurt a bit.

Later, in Feli's room, the two brothers discussed the process in great detail. "Ve, I just wish there was some nicer place to get it done. It was fun, and I want some more!"

Lovino did too. "I know, dammit. Maybe we can look on the internet and find some other place to try for next time."

"You think there will be a next time? Yay!" The younger boy leaped up and hugged his brother.

"Get off me, moron. Yes. It – it didn't hurt as much as I'd thought, and I have a lot of ideas for better artworks." He ran his thumb over the tomato, smiling. He had a _ton_ of ideas, and would start sketching them tonight.

…

For his Christmas present he chose to get a black dragon on his bicep; Feliciano wanted a waving Italian flag design on his left buttock. Lovino hadn't been able to repress a snort at that, and Grandpa had stood over the tattoo artist with a fierce expression on his face, probably making sure the bastard didn't molest Feli. Again Lovino was happy Grandpa had joined them. This was a different parlor, but still not too reassuring.

Later that evening Feliciano burst into his room and lay face down on the bed. "I had a brilliant idea, _fratello_. Why don't we open our own tattoo parlor?"

Amber eyes opened wide. "Are you some kind of idiot? I'm only fifteen, and you're only fourteen! How the hell could we do that?"

"Ve, I didn't mean right this minute. I meant we could spend the next couple of years studying how to do tattoos and run a business. When we graduate, we could do it! If we found a nice building, like in a strip mall or something clean, in a rich suburb, I bet we could get a lot of clients who are afraid to go to the scary parlors, ve. And then we could learn to do our own art as tattoos, because you know our art is better than a lot of the canned designs they have."

"I know it." Lovino lay back on his bed and thought about this. "That might actually be a good idea. Don't say anything to Grandpa about it yet, though. Let's do a little research, and then if he starts to tell us it's a dumbass idea, we can impress him with all the work we did."

"Okay! I'll go start drawing designs right now!" Feli fled the room.

Lovino didn't get much sleep that night, on fire with this idea. He'd just bet his brother was right, and there were lots of pansy-ass bastards who'd be too frightened to go to a regular tattoo parlor. (He ignored the fact that he himself would be too frightened to go alone.) He loved his body art, which had already lured a lot of girls (and boys) into playing with him in dark storage closets during school social functions. If he could make money off it – hell, yeah.

And so over the next few years, he and Feli madly did research, looking for rich areas around the country and learning how to operate tattoo machines. Lovino also studied business management, because he knew his brother would be too vacant to do that part of the work. And of course they got new tattoos every year for their birthdays and at Christmas.

Grandpa, when they finally approached him, was impressed with their planning – but not impressed enough to pony up the cash. "Sorry, boys. I don't have the kind of money you'd need. I'll back you up at the bank, if you need it, though." He scratched his head and grinned. "You chose a good place, I think. DC has a lot of rich people. It's a long way to go, though."

"Yay!" Feli jumped up and hugged Grandpa. "Don't worry, Grandpa! We'll do great, ve, and you can come see us. It will be perfect."

The elder brother breathed a silent sigh of relief. In two more months they'd both graduate from high school, Lovino having been held back during eighth grade, and the two of them could spend the whole summer researching and settling in before launching the business in the fall.

…


	2. The Reality

**Chapter 2: The Reality.**

Lovino, in a black tank top to show off his body art to maximum advantage, grinned smugly at the reception area of their new building. Well, the building wasn't new, but it was clean, and in a well-trafficked area, big parking lot, easy to get to, brightly lit, and inviting. Each of them had a room where they could do the work, and then there was the gleaming chrome reception area, a restroom, and a tiny kitchenette. They were going to do so well, he knew, and get a reputation as fantastic artists. This was _awesome. _How many people got to live their dream at the age of 19? Not many, he'd bet.

They'd spent a lot of money marketing the place before opening. Feli had wisely suggested they call it a "clinic," rather than a parlor, to stress the clean, bright, modern nature of the experience. They'd taken out full-color newspaper and magazine ads, placed ads on the internet and flyers in the windows of the nearby stores. Yesterday had been the grand opening. While they hadn't had any actual customers, several of the other local shop owners and employees had stopped by to glance around the place and wish them well. Lovino felt pumped and optimistic, except for one thing.

Grandpa had died of a heart attack last month, before being able to visit them and see their new business setup. This had almost forced them to postpone the opening, but all the advertising had been set and couldn't be easily changed without worrying about loss of business.

After the funeral, when he'd delved into the estate administration, Lovino realized why his grandfather hadn't been able to help launch them. He'd left nothing but debts, and the brothers had a choice of paying the debts out of their business money (which Lovino didn't want to do) or selling the home they'd grown up in. Feli had argued strongly against that. In the end, the younger brother had won; they'd paid the debts and funeral expenses out of the business loan and returned to Washington poorer, and with heavy hearts.

Still. That was all behind them, and things were going to be great. Feli had rushed eagerly out to the plaza's coffee shop just now, and Lovino kept smirking with pride as he examined every part of the reception area in great detail, waiting for the phone to ring.

He watched a crappy little red car pull up and park out front. Its driver, a frowning blond man with big dark eyebrows, approached the door. Lovino put on his best 'customer service' face and hoped the guy wouldn't be a bastard. "Hi," he said, when the man entered. He tried to smile politely.

"Er – hello. Do you have any available appointments right now?" He sounded English.

Lovino's grin became real. "Yes. Come and sit and let's talk about what kind of designs you'd like." He gestured towards the seating area, where several books of tattoo art lay on a round glass coffee table. "I'm the owner, Lovino Vargas."

"How d'you do? My name is Arthur Kirkland." He slipped Lovino a business card; the brunet dropped it into a drawer without looking at it and then joined Arthur on the sleek black couch.

They sat together and browsed through the books, discussing various areas of the body and the best types of art that would suit the blond. In a few minutes Feli came back and greeted them, handing Lovino his espresso, and vanished into his own workroom.

"These are breathtaking," Arthur then said, leafing through a plain binder full of designs.

Lovino beamed. "Those are my own designs," he admitted excitedly, reaching out to trace a finger over an intricate sketch of two koi, their entwined bodies creating a circle. "Do you like it?"

Arthur looked up and smiled, too, and Lovino was surprised at how that nice smile offset those intimidating eyebrows. "I like it a lot. Er – does it cost extra for these? Since they're, er, your limited editions or whatever?"

The brunet was still thinking about that smile, so he said, "No. Not for you. You're my first customer; I'll give you a price break for that."

"Really? Then yes. I – er – can you do them around my navel?" Arthur blushed, making him look even cuter, and bent his head as he twirled his finger in a circle around his belly button.

"Of course. Come into the back, and we can get started."

In the workroom, once Arthur had removed his shirt, he blushed and looked away. "Do I need to – er – my trousers, I – "

Lovino nearly burst out laughing. How shy this adorable bastard was! Luckily he wore sweats, with an elastic waist. "Nah. Just push your waistband down a bit."

Biting his lip, the blond did so, and sat where Lovino directed him.

The artist examined his client's body closely. That skin was so pale, and unblemished except for a scar here and there – it almost seemed a shame to mar the pristine surface. Yet Lovino understood that he would be the first to make a mark on Arthur's body; that every time the Brit saw this design, he'd remember Lovino and this day. So in that respect, he was eager to begin. Yes. The smooth skin would be greatly enhanced by the colorful koi. He ran his palm over Arthur's abdomen a few times before preparing the site. Mm. Lovino couldn't repress a big smile. The adventure was about to begin!

…

Two weeks later, he felt slightly anxious. He had only had one more paying customer, an older woman who'd wanted a floral design on the top of her foot. She'd been nervous and awkward the whole time, and he'd been thankful when she'd left.

Every day, he was panicking; he'd bitten all his nails to the quick. Feli had had a few customers too, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Lovino felt very stressed about the business end of things, and didn't quite know what to do. Yet it had only been a few weeks. They couldn't expect things to explode overnight. He and his brother took turns adding more art to each other's upper body during the down times, just to keep in practice. Soon their torsos would be completely covered! Lovino knew he looked badass, and that gave him extra confidence at work.

Arthur came back one afternoon, and asked for a dagger on his bicep. "Pretty hardcore," Lovino commented, prepping the work area.

"Eh. Sometimes I feel brutal and hardcore," the blond shrugged. "This one's kind of a talisman for me. To help me keep my anger in check, while I keep the public face on."

"Cheh. I know how that can be." Lovino did a beautiful design, embellishing the dagger blade with intricate scrollwork and wrapping a vine around it, and Arthur professed himself pleased. He promised to come back in a while, when he'd figured out what he wanted next.

Lovino watched him go. He liked Arthur, and not just because the bastard was his only real client. They got along well. While the brunet didn't like to share much about his personal life, he suspected that they were kind of similar. Certainly he too felt the need to keep a lid on his anger quite often, mostly when the accounts were involved!

The blond began to come by more and more, perhaps twice a month, getting a new artwork each time. After the third visit – torn with indecision – he'd grandly allowed Lovino to have free rein over the choice and placement of the rest of his body art. This filled the Italian with new optimism. Surely other clients would start coming in!

Soon they began to get to know each other better; Lovino told his new friend of the brothers' near-lifelong desire to make money with their art, and Arthur talked a little about his clinical job with a computer company. He didn't like it much, but it paid the bills. That was about all he could say that was positive.

"Why do you work there, bastard, if you hate it so much?"

"Eh. I don't really _hate_ it. It's cold and boring. I can tell that you love your work, here, but I simply fell into the information industry by accident. It's not a very 'fun' environment."

"Cheh. I can only imagine." This time Lovino had chosen a Renaissance scrollwork design to adorn the back of Arthur's neck. "Wouldn't catch me doing that shit."

"At least it pays the bills," Arthur repeated.

That comment shut Lovino up immediately. He loved his work, but couldn't make ends meet. He never shared that with Arthur, though. Didn't want his only repeat customer to know just how desperate he was. And there was always a chance that the Brit would think Lovino was tapping him for a loan! He didn't want their fledgling friendship to go to hell in a fucking handbasket because of some stupid misunderstanding like that.

So they shared some things, but not too much, and never for very long. Arthur always had to be somewhere afterwards. Each time, they parted from each other with small smiles and a handshake, and these appointments left the brunet in a cheerful and upbeat mood, which lasted for maybe an hour before reality crept back in.

…

A dark-haired Spaniard walked in one afternoon and asked for a tattoo on his groin. Dammit, Lovino had known that eventually some idiot would want that, or something on his ass, but it was business they desperately needed, so he agreed to do it. They went into the workroom, and while he set up the machine and inks, the customer completely removed his pants, displaying an erection that terrified the already-nervous Lovino. How the fuck could he do a tattoo with that damn thing staring him in the face?

"Would you rather play with me, _cariño?_" the man, named Antonio, asked seductively, trailing one finger over the Italian's jaw and stroking himself with his other hand. "You are so beautiful. I can wait for my tattoo. But I'll pay you for your time."

The artist had been very lonely in that respect, because he spent all his waking hours at the clinic, waiting for customers who never came. Antonio was very attractive, and Feli had gone home for the day, he knew. These facts, combined with the phrase "pay you," made up Lovino's mind, and he turned the machine off; the grinning Antonio had come prepared, and whipped a condom from his wallet with a wink.

Lovino did his best to please the gorgeous, smiling Spaniard, and to assuage his own isolation a little. They made sweet love to each other in the workroom, and when they were done, Antonio threw a couple of bills on the countertop as he dressed himself. "Got to run, _cariño. _I'll be back, though. Maybe we can go out sometime?" The man tipped the embarrassed Italian another wink and left.

Shit. What if Feli found out? Lovino quickly pulled his clothes back on and turned to wash his hands in the little sink before glancing at the cash. What the fuck? Antonio had left _two hundred_ _dollars_? For _that? _Dammit! He shoved the money deep into his pocket and went to sit in the reception area and think. Huh. Too bad he couldn't sleep with the bastard every night. That'd solve all the business problems.

…


	3. The Nightmare

**Chapter 3: The Nightmare.**

Over the next few months, Lovino felt himself sinking deeper into a pit of despair. Antonio never asked him for a date – or even a fucking tattoo – but came by often, making love to him in the workroom, and always leaving a generous – tip? – on the counter. One day a different bastard tried to make it with him, a bearded guy named Francis. Lovino had been about to scream and throw him out, until Francis had said he was a friend of Antonio's and prepared to pay.

Conflicted, the brunet did the deed and took the cash.

He was so afraid to confide in his little brother. They hadn't discussed the finances at all lately, though obviously Feli would have noticed their lack of customers. He wondered whether his little brother ever thought about the business accounts at all, or maybe he was too wrapped up in his new boyfriend, that macho German bastard named Ludwig. Feliciano seemed very lighthearted about life, and that made his older brother think that he wasn't really focused on the business much at all, anymore.

What the fuck was wrong with these people? How could the stupid locals not take advantage of their wonderful, clean, artistic shop?

He could never answer that satisfactorily, and all the marketing in the world didn't seem to be pulling in any customers, so he slept with Antonio, with Francis, with any moron who came by looking for sex, just to make enough money to keep them afloat. Lovino was very glad his grandfather had passed away, because if the old bastard had ever found out about some shit like this, he, Lovino, would be dead meat. Humiliated first, and then cold, dead meat.

Arthur continued to come by and request body art. Sometimes the blond seemed so shy about it that Lovino wondered what might be wrong – but by this point, he couldn't possibly get close to anyone and risk having them find out about the sex shit. How embarrassing that would be. So he kept their conversations lighthearted, and they both enjoyed them.

Every now and then Lovino wondered why Arthur had never tried anything funny with him, when they were alone in the back room with the blond half-naked. Cheh, well, maybe the bastard wasn't gay. That would make sense. It saddened Lovino a bit; when he let himself think about it, he admitted he would have liked to make love to Arthur. To actually make love – sweet sharing, growing closer, somewhere soft and quiet in a big bed – not this hasty, near-anonymous bullshit he did with those other idiots in the workroom of the clinic.

Sometimes at home he'd daydream about being with Arthur, stroking the blond hair, kissing and cuddling, sharing dumb jokes and bringing out that beautiful smile. It surprised him how often his fantasies were soft and romantic like this, instead of sexy. But he supposed he got enough sex at the clinic that it wasn't his real focus. He wanted someone to be close to, to share with. Someone who could maybe help him figure out what to do about the business! Sadly, that couldn't be Arthur. If the Brit ever found out about the other shit, well, that would be the end of their friendship, Lovino knew.

He couldn't get closer to Antonio or any of those other sex-crazed bastards, either. Not after all they'd been through. He needed to start socializing outside the damn clinic! How could he afford it, though, when they were on the brink of disaster?

So he always stayed late at the clinic, hoping against hope for some bunch of rich bastards to come by and get tattoos, to get him and Feli onto a firmer financial footing. But that never happened.

…

Near the end of the day, almost a year after they'd opened, Antonio came by for some playtime. His mind wandering, Lovino tried to calculate just how much the Spaniard had paid him for his favors over the last year, but kept losing count. Eventually the bastard finished and left, the usual wad of bills on the counter, the usual wink and smile.

Lovino scurried to deposit that money in the bank, and then came back to the reception area, where he sat staring at the accounting software and finally admitting to himself that they would have to go out of business. He didn't want to keep supplementing the income by taking money from these bastards, but the business simply wasn't going to work out. He wondered how to break the news to Feli. His brother was in his workroom with a client; they'd chosen a tattoo from one of Lovino's art books. Well, he'd wait until the client left, and then they would have a serious talk.

The weight of all this began to crush the young Italian. He stared unseeing at the computer but then logged off and went into his workroom, drawing deep breaths and fighting to keep the panic at bay. He felt responsible; Lovino was the head of the family now, and he had dragged them straight into the dirt. Fuck. He'd have to figure out a way to get rid of all those bastards, and sell off the equipment and shit, and get some lame-ass job to pay back all the business loans.

About ten minutes later Feli came into the room. "Ve, Lovi, I'm going out now. I have a date with Ludwig."

Lovino just nodded weakly. He was glad his brother had another friend to rely on, and he knew he couldn't talk about this yet. He had to get his thoughts in order. Hm. Maybe tomorrow before they opened, they could talk.

"But I have to tell you this, _fratello,_" his little brother continued. "I saw that Spanish guy leaving, ve."

"So what?"

"Well, Ludwig is a policeman."

"Yeah? I knew that. What the fuck are you talking about?" He was in no mood to play his brother's stupid guessing games.

Feli took his hand. "Ve, Lovi, he's been turning a blind eye because he cares for me and doesn't want to hurt us, but if you keep taking money for sex, he's going to have to arrest you soon. Prostitution is illegal, you know."

"_What?"_ Lovino screeched, leaping up. "What?" But he sank back into his chair, deflating, as he realized the truth in his brother's statement. "Holy fuck." He sank his face into his hands. Holy _fuck!_

Feliciano embraced him. "I know why you do it, Lovi, and I'm so grateful, but you shouldn't. I need to bear some of the responsibility too, or else we need to quit the business."

Lovino began to cry, a little. "I – I can't talk about that now," he choked out. First he had to think about this – this _prostitution _shit! "Go on your stupid date."

"Ve, all right. Be careful, Lovi. I'll see you in the morning." With these quiet words his little brother left the room.

Jesus fucking Christ. How had he not made that stupid connection? Of course prostitution was illegal, and of course what he was doing was technically prostitution. If he'd ever gone out on a date with any of these bastards, then maybe he could have justified it to the authorities, but none of them had ever asked, and he'd never cared enough about any of them to ask for a real date. Shit. He was now intensely grateful for the potato bastard's kindness in this matter (though he knew he'd react like an ass when he saw the tall German the next time).

This was bad. No, it was _beyond_ bad. What if he couldn't turn them away? What if they kept pestering him for sex, or worse yet, started pestering his _fratello_? Well, Feli had Ludwig to back him up. Lovino probably didn't need to worry about that. Plus if they went out of business, the bastards wouldn't be able to find Feli except by accident.

Nope. Nothing to worry about there. Just the business, and himself. Yes, his life _totally sucked._ From an optimistic young artist/businessman to bankrupt male prostitute in ten months. Chigi! He wondered if that was some kind of fucking record.

What if it was _all a trap?_ If those gay bastards had all been some sort of police sting operation? Lovino began to hyperventilate but grabbed the countertop to steady himself. Eventually he talked himself into calming down with some reasonable arguments: they would have arrested him already; the other bastards would be humiliated in court, etc. etc. etc.

Shit. What a hole he'd dug for himself. He was too depressed to even leave the building, and just sat there thinking and thinking about the same shit over and over. Lovino was at the lowest point of his entire existence and briefly considered killing himself. But in his heart he knew he was too chicken for suicide, and besides, that would land his _fratello_ in a pile of guilt, he'd bet. Feli didn't deserve that.

Some time later (minutes? hours?) there was a gentle knock on the open workroom door. "Hello?" Arthur said softly, behind him.

That neutral word hit Lovino with all the despair he'd been bottling up. Arthur – the one person who'd genuinely kept him in business – dammit! Lovino pinched himself in the thigh to keep from crying. "Hey," he tried to say lightly, though his throat ached with the effort. "I – uh – I don't feel much like doing any work tonight. If – if you come back next week, you can get some new art." Lovino would find a way to do some freebies to thank Arthur, even if they had to do it in the bathroom of the apartment he and Feli shared. He turned on the little stool to face his friend and client.

"I can't," the blond told him quietly, almost apologetically. "I – came over to say goodbye to you. My company's having cutbacks, and if I want to stay employed, I have to transfer to our office in Seattle. I – I leave on Sunday." He extended his hand to shake Lovino's. "I wanted to thank you for the beautiful work you've done. I'll never forget you. How can I? Every time I take my shirt off, I see your striking designs."

Arthur leaving the area? Then there was now no legitimacy to the Vargas Brothers Tattoo Clinic, none at all. Tears did fall from his eyes and he didn't take Arthur's hand; he balled his hands into fists and rubbed his eyes to clear them.

In seconds he felt the blond's hand drop lightly onto his shoulder. "Are you all right? I know you can't be crying just because I'm leaving," he joked, but Lovino shook his head _no,_ over and over, now staring at his hands in his lap. Arthur didn't speak again, but patted his shoulder once or twice. Dammit!

"S-sorry," Lovino finally managed, pushing himself away. "I'm sorry. D-don't mind me. I – I have a lot going on." Hah. Understatement of the year.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

But that was too much for Lovino. He couldn't talk to him about the – the fucking prostitution shit! Not to Arthur. And how else could he unburden himself? "No. B-but thanks." He wiped his eyes again.

"I would have liked to know you better." The blond's voice sounded sad and weary. "Th-the only reason I kept coming back was because I like you so much. You're so much fun to talk to, and so artistic and attractive – I would have asked you to spend time together, coffee or dinner or something, but I was too bloody nervous. I – I hope that doesn't offend you." He stood waiting for a response.

The crying began again, this time in earnest, but Lovino couldn't speak. He kept rubbing his eyes, shaking his head _no, _until he finally sensed the Brit drawing away. Why couldn't he think of anything to say?

Apparently the blond had given up. "I hope you continue to prosper. Best of luck to you, then," he murmured, turning and walking out the door.

…


	4. The Confrontation

**Chapter 4: The Confrontation.**

Arthur hated his new job. Seven months in Seattle and his life sucked. His department was so new that nobody really had any idea of what they were supposed to be doing, so people milled around for most of the day, trying to figure things out, and as a result it was chaos. Work got done, but slowly. Arthur hated disorganization.

He also hated the lousy Seattle weather, so much like London's. Every day he ate a miserable lunch alone in the building's overpriced cafeteria, then slogged away through the boring afternoons before plodding back to his sparsely-furnished apartment. In all this time he'd bought nothing more than a bed, and a desk and chair for his computer. (His mandatory kettle and tea mugs he'd brought with him from Washington, along with a few spoons and the sugar bowl.)

So far, the Brit hadn't met anyone interesting to socialize with, either. Oh, a couple months ago some blokes had tried to start up a football club, but after three nights of rainy practice, where only four people had showed, they'd abandoned it. A few lonely nights in local pubs hadn't led to anything interesting. Everyone in the office scurried home at the end of the day, and Arthur was fed up with it all.

Sometimes he considered quitting, moving back to DC and getting a different job there. After all, he'd lived there for a long time and had some friends there. And – usually in the mornings, when he got out of the shower and saw his stunning body art glistening in the feeble sunlight – he thought about Lovino, and hoped the brunet was well. That night they'd parted, everything had been so bloody inconclusive. He'd begun to consider the artist a friend, and still felt distressed that he hadn't been able to help him with his problems. He knew he'd like to see Lovino again, and had admitted to himself that if he did go back to DC, the tattoo artist was the major reason he'd do so.

Arthur had taken the somewhat dramatic step of telephoning the clinic once or twice, but the phone had just rung and rung, without even going into a voice mail. He had actually been rather relieved about that. Didn't know what he'd have said if the git had answered. But both times, he'd forced himself to let it ring nine or ten times. Surely even if one of the brothers had been with a customer, they'd have interrupted themselves to answer the phone?

As if in an echo to his thoughts, his own telephone rang, startling him. "Kirkland here." He listened with slight stirrings of interest as the main receptionist told him there was a visitor for him. "Who is it?" He didn't have any meetings scheduled today.

When she told him the bloke's name he nearly dropped the telephone. "What? I'll be right down!" Arthur burst out of his office like an eager greyhound and pelted down the steps, not wanting to waste time waiting for the elevator. Lovino was _here?_ How? Why? Was he dreaming? He must be dreaming. Just because he'd been thinking about him –

Halfway down the stairs he stopped, not wanting to blunder into the lobby like some kind of idiot. He tried to fix his hair, he straightened his tie, and then proceeded down the remainder of the stairs at a leisurely, collected pace…although he was still, internally, in a frenzy.

Lovino was indeed waiting there for him. Arthur felt himself breaking into an amazed smile as he crossed to the brunet, who appeared decidedly nervous. "Hi! What on earth are you doing here?" He reached for his friend's hands, but Lovino kept his own stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, so Arthur let his own drop. M-maybe something bad had happened? The Italian didn't look happy.

"H-hi, bastard. I – " He stopped and glanced around the lobby; Liz, the receptionist, was the only other person in sight. "Listen, are you free? Can I talk to you, somewhere private?" He wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

The blond checked his watch: three o'clock, and it was Friday. Screw it; he was going to leave for the weekend, and suggested they go to his apartment and talk.

"Y-yeah. That's fine." Lovino finally caught his eye and a little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I need to go get my gear. Come upstairs with me." Mostly he was afraid this apparition would vanish if he got out of Arthur's sight! He quickly told Liz he was leaving for the day, and failed to notice the little spark in her eye as she considered the two men together, one dark, one light.

They took the elevator this time. Neither spoke. Arthur's brain whirled and whirled around. Lovino had crossed the country – had somehow sleuthed around to find his office building – and for what? For something bad, he'd bet. Given the way the Italian was scowling at the floor of the elevator, Arthur knew it couldn't be something fun. Maybe something had happened to his little brother. But in that case why had Lovino come to _him?_

They reached his office, where he quickly shut down his computer, grabbed his backpack and jacket, and hustled his guest out the door again. "I walk to work; it's not far. Is that – is that all right?" he ventured.

"Sure. That's fine." Lovino kicked the baseboard before slouching after him, back to the elevators.

…

"Can I get you some tea? That's about all I'm equipped to make." He threw his things on the floor by the front door and flicked the switch for the gas fireplace. Bloody hell, why hadn't he ever bought furniture? Something that had seemed so inconsequential now made him feel like an idiot.

Lovino stared at the empty room with naked scorn. "Hell of a place you've got here."

But Arthur was far too nervous-slash-concerned about whatever the brunet had to say to bother about this (correct) assessment of his living style. "Let's sit in front of the fire. I'll go put the kettle on." He ducked around the kitchen island, which separated the living area from the tiny kitchen itself, and turned on the electric kettle, frantically trying to get out two clean mugs, spoons, sugar. "Do you take milk?" he asked, knocking over a mug with a clatter. Thankfully, it didn't break.

"Don't know. Never drank tea before."

Eh? How was that even possible? He peeked over and saw Lovino seated near the fire, legs crossed, his arms pulled in tight to his sides. No, whatever this was all about, it was bad. His body language spoke volumes. Arthur thought that he would have to be calm and mature about it – whatever _it_ was. Lovino had come to him for some important reason, and it was up to him to help.

There was a tiny, nagging suspicion in his mind. Why him? Why now? Maybe Lovino – whom he really did not know very well – was some kind of psychopath, and had come here to – what? He couldn't guess. He'd be on his guard, and not sit too close.

When the tea was ready – during which time neither man had spoken – Arthur carefully carried the mugs to his guest and sat down. "This will warm you," he offered, pushing a mug towards the silent Italian.

"Thanks." Lovino took the hot mug and held it cupped in his hands.

Still neither spoke. Arthur was dying to get to the bottom of this – who wouldn't be? – but he bit his tongue, waiting for the brunet to speak.

When he finally did, it was a very soft, hesitant voice, not like the sarcastic, amused one that he had always used at the clinic. "You've got to be wondering why I'm here."

Arthur nodded, realized that Lovino couldn't see this because he was still staring into the tea, and cleared his throat. "Yes." And despite his intentions, he blurted out, "Are you in trouble?"

"Hah." At that, his friend met his eyes and gave the small smile again. "Not so much, anymore. Or, maybe, not yet?" He set the mug down and rubbed his forehead. "Listen, bastard, I have a lot to say, and I'm probably going to ramble a lot. Do – do you have to be anywhere tonight?" He sounded fearful.

"No." The blond hesitated but then told the truth. "I never have anywhere to go." Bugger. If Lovino _was_ bent on some bizarre criminal activity, Arthur had just given him the perfect opening. The brunet could kill him (why, though?) and his body would rot here alone until Monday, when Liz would no doubt alert the –

"Okay. If – if you want to ask me anything, go ahead, interrupt me, all right?" Lovino nodded sadly and picked up the tea mug again, glancing at the fire.

Arthur jerked out of his panicked ruminations. "Well – all right. Just – just –"

"Yeah, I'll get on with it." The artist sipped, finally, and began to speak.

…


	5. The Confession

**Chapter 5: The Confession.**

By the end of Lovino's tale, Arthur was flat on his back, hugging his arms around his own body protectively. This was so bloody disturbing that no questions popped into his mind at all. It was all he could do to absorb the information he was hearing.

Lovino, who had continued to face the fire, finally wound down. His last few sentences covered the previous months he'd spent in his hometown in Southern California, waiting to sell off the house where he and Feli had been raised. Now that the house had sold, he was at a loose end, and had come to find Arthur. "Don't you have _anything_ to say, bastard?" He dropped his eyes to his jean-clad knees.

Arthur sat up slowly, seeking a non-threatening comment. He picked up his cold mug of tea and sipped. Of course one question now dominated his mind. "Why me? Why are you here, telling me all this?" He was still a bit worried. He fiddled with the knot of his tie and finally removed it and flung it aside while he waited for the answer.

Lovino pursed his lips and took a deep breath. "Yeah. Uh. R-remember the night you came to say goodbye? You said you would have liked to get to know me better."

"Yes."

A deep sigh. "When I first met you, I was really happy to know you. B-because you were my first customer."

"I remember that." Though Arthur hoped that hadn't been the only reason.

"And, and, eventually, I grew to like you for who you are. I – I think you're interesting and fun, too, from what I know of you."

That was good. Arthur began to relax a little.

"W-well, when the Spanish bastard first showed up, he asked for a tattoo. So I just thought of him as a client. And then he said, forget the tattoo, let's play around" – here Lovino choked up a little, cleared his throat, stared up at the ceiling – "and he said we'd go on a date sometime. He didn't get a tattoo that day. So – so by the end of that day I was kind of thinking of him as a boyfriend, or possibly still a client."

"I take it that neither of those ever really materialized?"

A snort. "No, bastard, they did not. But there were a few weeks in there where I didn't see you, and he kept coming back, just for – for sex. At some point in there I realized he had no intention of getting a tattoo, or even dating me, you know? But I also knew that I was – well – beyond the pale, as far as you were concerned. I couldn't ever let you find out that I'd been – uh – with potential clients in the back room! It would ruin any friendship and you probably wouldn't come back for any more tattoos, either." He flapped his hands around in his agitation, as if to brush the memories away.

"Yet here you are telling me all about it, and I still don't understand why."

"Chigi! Let me finish, dammit." Lovino pushed the tea mug around on the hardwood floor as if it were a Ouija planchette that would give him guidance. "The whole time I knew you, I – I _honored_ you, respected you, because you were a real client. The only real client that ever helped towards my dream. Other than the money I made from you, I think we took in about seven hundred dollars in actual tattoo profits over the year."

Arthur whistled through his teeth. That was only about three or four small tattoos.

"Anyway, because I kept you in my mind as this – this ideal customer, whatever bullshit you like to call it, I couldn't talk to you about any of this back then. I – I used to want to be closer to you, too, but once this shit with Antonio started, I couldn't figure out how to break away, and I also figured you probably weren't really interested in me or you would have said something before that.

"So once we closed up the business, Feli decided to move in with stupid Ludwig. I went back home to sell the old house, and got a lame-ass job at Petco just to make a living. But the, the memory of you, of the things you said when you came to say goodbye, that stuff just kept coming back to me. I – I guess I went a little crazy there for a while, all alone in the old house, with my memories and shit; I kept obsessing over you as a friend that I'd let down that night, by not talking to you and wishing you well in your new job. Your memory was like a light shining in the distance for me. I know that sounds like some sappy mystical shit, but I think it kept me from going off the deep end. I knew that I wanted to see you for at least one honest talk once my obligations were settled, to get all this out in the open, resolve it, and whatever." He started pushing the mug around again, now gazing into the flames.

"Are you all right, now? Not in any trouble from the police, or from those other gits coming after you?" This was what concerned Arthur most. He now knew he'd help Lovino, if he could, but hoped nothing like that was still going on.

"I'm all right legally. The house has sold, the business has sold, all the loans are paid off, and the police are not interested in me. Feli's safe, and everything seems to be all right." The brunet's soft amber eyes looked right into Arthur's. "I just need, oh, fuck, I don't know. Absolution? Closure? I don't know what the hell to call it. I needed to come clean. Wanted you to know all the worst things about me, so that in case – uh –" He fell silent.

Arthur turned his empty mug around and around in his hands while his eyes failed to see the dancing flames. Whatever the bloody hell had driven his friend here, it must have been a powerful pain, to make him seek out a scene like this where he would lay all this out for an acquaintance.

He now knew that Lovino was only twenty-one; because of his somewhat badass demeanor Arthur had always pegged him as older. So, a young man, in a new place, with new and adult responsibilities, frightened and all alone except for a little brother he was responsible for…he tried to imagine what that must have felt like. Frankly, he wasn't sure that he'd have done anything differently, in the same situation. It must be hellish to have such a big expectation and see it all crumble to pieces before you. "What will you do now?" he wondered.

"Pfft. No fucking idea. I'm technically on vacation from stupid Petco, so I can go back there and keep working, but I don't want to do that. I want – I want some big dramatic change in my life, something to make a clean break with all that shit. But – but Feli and I never went to college, never studied anything other than how to run a tattoo parlor, because we _knew_ our idea would succeed." Lovino's voice broke, and he began to cry softly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Such a goddamn fuckup," he choked out.

By this point Arthur very badly wanted to hold him, to reassure him, but he didn't dare. Instead he took the empty tea mugs to the kitchen and washed them, breathing deeply, allowing his friend some time and space. Trying to sort all this out in his own mind.

The Brit suspected that Lovino had run to him partially for this – this 'absolution,' as he'd called it, but possibly also because he felt that Arthur would be someone he could lean on. Someone who might take pity on him, offer to support him, or whatever. Much as he liked Lovino as a person, he didn't want to become some bloody doormat. Well, he'd wait and see what happened next. Maybe he was wrong about that. He went back to sit next to him, a little closer than before, in case his friend did want some physical reassurance.

By now Lovino had controlled his crying. "S-sorry, bastard. I – I know I can get things in gear and shape up. I'm not – not worried about that at all. Even if I just move to a fresh city and get another lame retail job, I'll be all right. I'm never going to put a single toe out of line, ever again. It's too fucking risky. But I – but you – _you_," he said softly. "You, Arthur, are a person that I would like to know better." He took another deep breath. "I know that you might consider it weak, or maybe weird, if I said I wanted to move to this area and make my living. I don't know you well enough to say 'I want to move here to be with you.' Hell, I don't even know if you like boys that way. Maybe that wasn't what you meant that night; maybe even if you did, you wouldn't want _me_ because of the – because of all this shit I just told you. But we could still be friends? I could really use a friend. If – if you don't get freaked out by the idea, I had thought about moving here, getting to know you. I need to make some kind of decision about things, and choosing Seattle – admittedly only because of you – is better than choosing someplace else by poking a fucking pin into a map, or whatever. But I needed to talk to you first, to see if you could handle it. If you can't, I'll go somewhere else. Understand me?"

"I understand."

"I don't want to go back to DC, that's for certain." He examined his fingernails.

Arthur tried to make his voice lighthearted. "Hmm, yes, I can see that might be a tad risky."

"Pfft." His guest peeked at the blond again. "I'm glad you're not freaking out."

"I probably will, later. This is a lot to think about." Right away, though, there was one thing he could say to reassure his friend. "I – er – I do like boys 'that way,' though. That was what I meant that night, but I was afraid to come right out and say the word 'date.'" He smiled, and Lovino's eyes opened wide as he smiled shyly back at him.

But apparently the artist didn't want to go down that road yet. "Do you like it here? Your new job and shit? I can see you really enjoy living in this lavish apartment," Lovino snorted again.

"That pretty much says it all." Arthur lay back on the floor again, with his hands behind his head. "I'm not one of these outdoorsy types, and Seattle seems to be geared towards hikers, bikers, paragliding, all that shite."

"I thought it rained all the time here?" From the corner of his eye Arthur saw Lovino turn to look out the window, where it was, in fact, raining. "Yep."

"It does. They go out and do things anyway."

"That sucks. If you're not that kind of a bastard."

"I just told you I'm not."

"Yeah, yeah." The brunet craned his neck to peer back at the kitchen. "Any food around here?"

"No. I get takeaway all the time."

Lovino then peered at the blond. "Are you all right with this?"

"What, getting takeaway? Sure."

"Stupid. I meant with all this shit I told you. I know you didn't wake up expecting something like this today."

"I'm not sure yet. I need some time to think," Arthur pointed out. "To process it all. I'm glad it's the weekend; not sure I could focus, if I had to go to work tomorrow."

"Well, come on. I'll buy you dinner somewhere, and then you can walk me to my hotel, and then come home and think." He stood up. "Do you even have a bed in this fucking cell?"

"Yes, wanker, I have a bloody bed!" Arthur scowled and got up again, reaching for his coat where it lay crumpled on the floor, and switching off the fireplace. "Come on."

Again they strode along in silence, but this time a contemplative one. Arthur was impressed that Lovino had offered to buy dinner, but this was all still a little weird. How had he gotten here? He asked about this.

The brunet stopped in his tracks and scowled. "Look, you idiot! I saved my Petco money and got a flight!" He took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully, twisting his hands together in front of him. "Arthur, I'm not doing this so I can find some kind of fucking sugar daddy to support me the rest of my life, all right? I'm mature enough, sensible enough, that I'm going to stand on my own two feet, no matter where I go. Dammit. I'm not a sponge." He ran a hand through his hair. "I know this is weird for you. It's weird for me! I – I just thought it was important. Maybe I should just leave."

Arthur, surprised, touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't leave. It is weird. Like I said, I want to think it all over. But I'm glad you said that. It eases my mind a little." He gestured to the restaurant. "Come on, let's eat."

…

After a somewhat strained dinner, Arthur walked Lovino to his hotel. "I'll come over in the morning, probably late morning," the blond assured his friend. "I'll probably be up late thinking about all this, so I'll sleep late."

"Pfft. No problem with me, bastard. I'm a late sleeper anyway. I'll stay in my room, or if I can't handle the hunger pains, I'll be in the hotel restaurant."

They shook hands formally, awkwardly, outside the brunet's hotel room door, and then Arthur turned and headed back home, to think.


	6. The Resolution

_Yeah, it's going to be a little longer than I'd thought._

…

**Chapter 6. The Resolution.**

Lovino paced around the small hotel room, unable to settle. Dammit! He wished Arthur hadn't asked to take all night to deal with this shit. He wanted it to be finished, one way or the other, so he could either get out of here, or start to relax and settle down. He knew that he, too, would have a rough night of it, waiting for the other shoe to drop. To kill some time, he went into the bathroom for a shower.

Ever since Feli had said the word "prostitution," layers of Lovino's tough public self had peeled away, leaving him a weak, trembling young man with a panicked outlook on life. He had indeed gone a little crazy back in SoCal, fearful to speak to anyone he didn't know, fearful to step outside his comfort zone. So he had shuttled back and forth, from home to work, from work to grocery store, to home, and so on, in silent, everlasting circles. He hoped so much that Arthur could accept him, would provide him an anchor he desperately needed. He wanted to be himself again, the self that had been so cocky and confident when the clinic had opened, the self that Arthur had known before. Not this defenseless naked creature who couldn't meet anyone's eye.

After showering, he threw on sweats and sat down to watch television. It was nearing midnight, but he didn't feel sleepy at all. Instead he watched some local networks, trying to get a feel for the area. Could he really live in this place that was apparently so gloomy? If Arthur said yes, then Lovino would do it. He would overcome his problems and get on with his life. Imagine spending the next fifty years of his life like this, alone and weak! Fuck that. He snorted and this made him laugh a little.

His attention wandered from the program as he lay back and tried to imagine what their life would be like together. Would – would Arthur want to just be friends? Or maybe he'd just want to fuck Lovino and run. Dammit. He started to worry that he'd gone too far with this project, laid his inner core bare. Arthur now knew all his worst fears. What if the Brit played on those fears, just to toy with him? He rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands, feeling pissed off and exhausted. Maybe he should check out of this hotel and go find another one. Maybe he was in danger from the blond.

No. He had to be strong enough to see this through. This was the first step back into a stronger life. If he ran away now, he'd be running forever. And then, too, if Arthur was honorable, and came back to be with him, but found him missing – would he panic, Arthur? Or would he think maybe it had all been a prank?

Fuck, this kind of inward thinking wasn't doing him a damn bit of good; in fact, it was probably making things worse. Lovino switched off the TV and lay down to sleep, but of course he couldn't. Shit, by late morning he'd be a wreck! Dark circles under his eyes, crabby…that wouldn't help. He punched the flat pillow into a ball and growled.

After another hour of tossing and turning he got up again and put the light on, grabbing the local newspaper from the table. His eyes were too tired to focus on it, but he still wasn't sleepy. Dammit. So he set it down.

"Did you actually think," he said aloud to himself – a habit that had formed during the alone time in the old house – "that you'd just dance up to him and he'd welcome you with open arms? Idiot."

And then, as usual, he answered himself, since no one had ever been around to answer: "Of course not. I would have been even more scared if he had."

Just saying that out loud made him nervous again, and he shut up and picked up the paper again, but he couldn't read it. He just _didn't know!_ Lovino paced the room a few more times and finally threw himself face-down on the brightly-lit bed, landing on the newspaper and making it crackle.

He must have slipped into a doze at some point; he was startled awake by a tapping sound somewhere. Uh? Oh! Someone was knocking? Arthur? He checked the clock; it was just before 4 AM. What the fuck? Maybe it was some psycho. He tiptoed to the door and used the peephole. No, it was Arthur, looking just as bleary as Lovino felt. He quickly opened the door and stared at the blond. "Hi?" Blood rushed to his head as he felt the panic rise. This was it, then…

Arthur managed a weak smile. "Hi. I – er – I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to pace around until late morning. I thought you might still be awake too, so I checked for light under your door."

Lovino gestured him in. His heart was hammering away in his chest, so loudly that he could barely hear the lilting English voice. "Y-yeah. Just reading the paper. I couldn't sleep either." Had Arthur decided _yes?_ Or _no?_ He felt butterflies in his stomach and his head felt hot, so he crossed to the big sliding glass door that led to the balcony, and rested his forehead against it to cool down. "Well?"

In the reflection in the glass, he saw Arthur sit gingerly on the spare bed. "I've thought it all over."

Did Lovino dare speak? Could he speak without his voice cracking like a desperate idiot? He managed a questioning grunt.

"I don't want you to move to Seattle," Arthur said clearly.

"Fuck!" He punched the glass so hard he was surprised it didn't break. Dammit, dammit, he would not cry, he would _not…_he was so angry and torn at the failure of his gamble that he didn't realize Arthur had risen from the bed and crossed to his side.

"You didn't let me finish. I don't want you to move to Seattle because it's a rubbish place to live."

Lovino ground his teeth together, growling at his own reflection. "Bastard, I told you, I'm willing to put up with it, if only – " He stopped abruptly as he felt Arthur's hand come to land, oh, so softly, on his shoulder.

The blond's voice was very quiet and calm. "You still aren't letting me finish." But he didn't say anything further, so Lovino blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and turned to face him.

"Finish, dammit," he snapped, wanting to get the worst over with.

And then Arthur took his hands calmly, forcing the fists to relax, and gave him that beautiful smile – the one that Lovino had treasured in his memory like a beacon of hope. "I'd like to have a big life adventure, too, Lovino. I'm sick of the corporate world and sick of Seattle already. Why don't we pick the most interesting place we can both agree on, and move there?" He squeezed Lovino's hands; the brunet automatically squeezed back.

He also felt the prickle of forming tears and blinked furiously to get rid of them, but one escaped and rolled down his face. Arthur tenderly brushed it away and then cupped the damp cheek. "What do you say? Shall we get away from it all and start a new life together?"

The brunet couldn't take the radiance of that smile any longer. Slowly, he bit his lip and nodded, closing his eyes, and with that, Arthur put both arms around him and pulled him close. Lovino raised his arms and held on tightly to his friend's neck, feeling his warmth and the strength of his concern and support.

He felt safe again. Already. Lovino knew he'd grow stronger, be able to get back to the way he used to be. It would take a while, but he knew he could do it, with Arthur's help.

"You're a bloody brave bloke, to have come here and shared all that," Arthur whispered to him. "I'm not certain I could have been so brave, in your shoes."

"Th-thanks for accepting me, Arthur," he murmured into the blond's shoulder. "For giving me a chance."

"Thank you for offering me such a rare gift. I hope I can be worthy of it." Arthur stroked his hair.

"You already are. You've just proved it to me." Lovino automatically relaxed some more, resting in those strong arms. It was going to be all right.

It was!

…

_Not done yet. Stay tuned._


	7. The Planning

**Chapter 7: The Planning.**

He could have gone on holding Arthur for much longer, he was so relieved, but the blond yawned loudly in his ear, startling them both. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" He drew back to smile at Lovino again. "I haven't been sleeping well, lately, because of work, and I think all this is finally getting to me."

"It's all right. I'm beat too." The brunet gestured to the beds. "I have the hotel room for the whole weekend…why don't we just crash now, and talk more when we're rested?" A little part of him was afraid that Arthur was joking, that if he left the hotel room Lovino would never see him again. His rational mind knew that was not really a concern, but the little defenseless wobbly bit still worried.

"That's a good idea." Arthur removed his jacket, shoes and belt, and threw back the covers on the spare bed.

"I get the bathroom first, though." Lovino grinned and dared to pat his friend on the head.

"Fine. Just don't be all night."

In the bathroom he beamed at himself in the mirror, and then washed his face because he looked like shit from crying and not sleeping. What would tomorrow bring? It was a new adventure, just as Arthur had said. Who knew what could happen?

When they had settled down, each into a bed, Lovino switched off the light. "Good night…and thanks for coming over here so early. I would have been a wreck by late morning."

"Me too. That's why I did it." In the dark his friend's little chuckle was reassuring. "See you later."

"Sweet dreams."

…

In the gloomy light from the wet balcony windows, the Italian woke up, glanced around the room, and began to panic, before hearing the creak of the bathroom door behind him. He flipped over to see a smiling and fully-dressed Arthur coming out of the little room. "Good morning, sunshine," the Brit said, sitting on the edge of Lovino's bed and ruffling his messy brown hair. "How are you?"

"Pfft. Fine, I guess." Lovino yawned and tried to smile at the same time; he could tell this made him look like an idiot, so he stopped smiling. "How long have you been up?"

"Half an hour, maybe? I didn't want to wake you, though. You looked so content."

"I am content. Little bit nervous, but content."

"Good. Get out of the bed; we have a lot to talk about and do." Arthur stood up and stretched.

"I'll say." The Italian leaped out of the bed. "What do we have to talk about first?" He rummaged around in the dresser for clean clothes.

"Breakfast! I'm starving."

"Lunch, more likely. It's 11:30!"

"Lunch, then. Go on, shift it, get dressed, let's go eat."

Lovino hurried into the bathroom. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right out." He was excited! He finally had a great reason to get out of bed again!

…

Seated at a diner, the two sipped their drinks and smiled nervously at each other. "Well? Wh-where do we start?" Lovino wondered. He really hadn't thought past the resolution of his problem.

"I've been thinking about it. For me, even if I turn in my resignation on Monday, I'm probably going to be stuck working for two more weeks. That's a kind of business protocol, so they have time to find someone to fill my position. Plus I've already paid rent until the end of the month. Would you like to stay here with me? Because you might as well give up the hotel room and bring your gear over to my apartment, to save a little money. Then we can spend time talking about a place to move to, looking things up and whatever. Do you have things in California that you need to get? After my two weeks are up, we could go get them, or whatever else we need to do before heading to the new place."

"Hm. I have a return ticket, but I can probably get credit for it or something. There's nothing at home I need to get. The new home buyers bought all the furniture; all my clothes are in those suitcases." The brunet drank some coffee. "So, yeah, that works for me…but fuck."

"Fuck what?"

"Fuck, you don't have any goddamn furniture! Could we at least get some stupid beanbag chairs or something?"

Arthur began to laugh merrily, and this made Lovino blush. "Yes, we can get something to keep your bony little arse happy."

"Idiot," he muttered with a suppressed smirk.

"Anyway, I suppose you ought to telephone Petco and resign, yes? And let your brother know? Does he even know you're here?"

Lovino sighed and traced circles on the Formica tabletop with the fingers of his right hand. "No. I – I didn't want to tell him, in case it failed. Or in case he tried to talk me out of it." His eyes met Arthur's bold green ones. "I was, oh, eighty percent sure it'd fail, so I knew if he tried to talk me out of it, I'd back down. Didn't want to risk that."

"Where does he think you are, right now?"

"Cheh, probably still back at the house. I told him it sold and sent him the little bit of money we made, but that's the last time I talked to him. About a week ago."

"You should call him. Email, or something." Arthur nodded decisively.

"Yeah. Do – do you have a computer I can use?"

"Surprisingly, I do. Will I let you use it? That's a different question altogether." He raised his eyebrows and sipped tea.

"Bastard." But then Lovino pursed his lips. "Sorry. I shouldn't call you that."

"Call me whatever the bloody hell you want. Whatever makes you comfortable."

Lovino's only response to this was a raised eyebrow of his own. Arthur continued, "I'm not going to change my behavior for you, you realize. So you shouldn't do it for me. Just take it as a given that we're all right with each other, and be how you want. Just don't treat me badly."

"You know I wouldn't do that. Uh, unless it's by accident. I want – I want – " But he couldn't clarify what it was that he wanted.

Under the table he felt Arthur's legs wrap around his own in a kind of surreptitious hug, and the blond gave him that sweet smile again. "Don't worry. I think we're going to have a lot of fun together."

Lovino tried to match the smile. "I hope so, bastard," he agreed, pulling his legs free and wrapping them around those of his friend.

…

"The bedroom's that way. Just throw your suitcase in there, unless you want to take a nap."

"Dammit, I wish you hadn't said that," Lovino yawned. But he crossed to the bedroom door. "Holy fucking shit!"

Arthur, in the kitchen, turned around. "Now what?" He walked over to the bedroom door.

"Why the hell do you have this gigantic, gorgeous bed, and no other furniture?" Lovino stood with the suitcase hanging down at his side, and then he let it go with a thump.

Well, it was true, Arthur's one luxury was this bed. King-sized, of ornately-carved mahogany, it had expensive, heavenly cream cotton sheets, a thick mint-green duvet, several plump chocolate-colored pillows. He loved that bed; it was his sanctuary. "Why do you think, wanker?" He cuffed his friend in the arm. "So that if I ever had a boyfriend I could bring him back here and make love in my beautiful, luxurious bed." He grinned a bit nervously.

"Your logic is faulty." The brunet moved to the side of the room and unzipped his suitcase.

Arthur sat on the bed to watch. "What are you talking about?" That was a bloody bizarre comment.

"Hah. All right, imagine the scenario. Arthur finds a beautiful boy and asks him on a date. They go to a nice romantic restaurant, and afterwards, somehow the clueless British bastard talks his date into coming back to the apartment. All Arthur can think about is sex. Then he opens the door. Date sees no furniture except a computer on a desk. 'This bastard is a wacko,' the date thinks, and leaves."

"Pfft. I'd keep him occupied until we got to the bedroom. The sight of this magnificent bed would take any fears away."

Lovino finished what he was doing and sat on the bed opposite his friend. "It wouldn't work, stupid. You'd never get anybody into this bed; they'd be too freaked out by the living room." He bounced up and down a little, like he was testing the mattress.

Arthur smirked at him.

"What, bastard? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"_You're_ in this bed, at the moment."

The brunet laughed and punched him in the arm. "Moron. I'm a special case." He hopped off the bed and went back out into the kitchen.

"You're a _mental_ case, is what you are," the Brit muttered with a chuckle, following him.

…

That night the situation was a little odd, as they prepared to sleep, but the bed was spacious enough that they could sleep far apart. Both of them got into the bed wearing t-shirts and underwear. Arthur preferred to sleep nude, but was hesitant to get anything started yet, knowing his friend's sexual issues. So he hugged him. "Sleepy?"

"Hell, yes. We didn't get much sleep last night."

"Worth it, though."

"Mm. Yeah." Lovino fidgeted a little.

It seemed like he wanted to ask something – and Arthur could guess what it was – so to put him at ease, he suggested, "Don't worry about anything, all right? We have a lot of time to grow closer to each other." He hoped his friend would understand what he meant.

"Thanks, bastard. I appreciate that." With that succinct statement the brunet rolled to the far side of the bed, and they fell asleep.

…

During the next few weeks, Arthur resigned his position, helped his manager sift through resumes, and generally checked up on his friend throughout the work days. Work wasn't so bad, now that he knew he had Lovino to come home to!

The brunet by contrast quit his job, brought his brother up to date on his life, cancelled his return flight, and bought some kitchen implements so that he could cook for them. While Arthur was at work, he spent time on the desktop computer trying to find a fun place for them to live, and on the rare non-rainy days, went outside for walks, to get some fresh air.

They had begun to ease into a very comfortable, normal friendship. Lovino had already lost a lot of his shyness; Arthur, for his part, was delighted to have a friend in town, and loosened up a lot. During the evenings they wandered around, often stopping at the library to do research on the cities Lovino had chosen. If it was raining, they stayed home and sat on the new beanbag chairs – sometimes separately, sometimes wedged into one chair together. On these nights, they shared stories of their lives before they'd met, and Arthur talked about Seattle, and what his life had been like after he'd left DC.

He spoke one evening about how he'd considered moving back to the District, mostly because of Lovino. That was on one of their 'share a chair' nights, and he'd felt his friend wriggling with pleasure when he'd confessed that. He laughed a little. "One thing I'm looking forward to…you, obviously, have seen all my tattoos, since you're the one who gave them to me."

"Yeah?"

"Other than your arms, and the little bit here" – he tickled the base of Lovino's throat – "I've never seen yours."

Lovino struggled into an upright position (difficult to do on a beanbag) and started to remove his t-shirt. "Take a look at them now, if you want."

But Arthur stopped him. "No. Please? I – I want to wait, wait until we have a nice place to live, and all that. Until we're ready to – er – you know. Will you indulge me?" Although he was blushing, he forced a smile; the blond had already discovered that his smile had an unusual softening effect on his friend.

Lovino yanked the shirt back down. "Of – of course, bastard," he said in a flustered tone. "Whatever."

"Good." Arthur hugged him. "I'll let you know when I'm ready, all right?"

"All right." They settled back into the chair.

"Do you think you'll ever do any more tattoos?"

Lovino thought for a moment before answering. "Well, I did keep one of the little handheld machines, and inks are pretty cheap. I wanted to offer some more for you – you know, freebies – but I don't want to try to open a new business."

"That makes sense. I think we'll do better if we just get low-stress jobs working for someone else. Then if we find we really hate the location, it's not a big deal to quit and move to a new city."

"Good point. You're a smart one, bastard."

"Yes, and you're a git." Arthur ruffled his hair, and eventually they fell asleep in front of the fire.

…

On his last day of work, while Lovino stayed home and prepared for the move to Toronto, Liz collared Arthur in the lobby. "Best of luck to you," she offered. "You're moving out of town? That's what Gilbert told me." Gilbert was an albino co-worker of theirs, a local; he was a loud nuisance, but could be fun. Arthur often saw him pestering Liz at her desk when they were supposed to be working.

"Heading to Toronto. We're looking forward to it." He'd spoken automatically, without considering her curious nature.

And indeed, she blushed and clapped her hands together. "You and your – is that man your boyfriend? The one who came to see you? Ooh," she breathed, but didn't ask any more. "Well, good luck! I hope the two of you have fun together."

"Thanks, Liz. Don't let Gilbert push you around."

"Don't worry." She opened a desk drawer to show him a frying pan tucked away.

"Eh? What's that for?"

"To smack him! When he gets obnoxious."

"Pfft. Your arm will get tired. Stay safe." He nodded at her and left the building, waving. Wow. Free of the corporate world at last. He tipped his head back and smiled at the sky.

Arthur was a little nervous about all this new-life stuff. Yes, he hated the corporate world, and yes, he was ready for a life adventure, just as he'd told Lovino. But he would never have taken that step without a loyal friend by his side. To be all _alone_ and starting a new life adventure sounded terrifying! He was so happy that Lovino had been unconventional enough to hunt him down. With a deep breath, he rushed back to their apartment in the rain, to dry off and relax with his new best friend.

…


	8. The Redemption

**Chapter 8. The Redemption.**

Once they'd arrived in Toronto, it took only three days for them to rent a reasonable apartment and find jobs. Lovino went to work at a pet store, since he had a little experience with that, and Arthur took a job in construction. He liked the idea of working outside and beefing up his muscles a bit. He'd never be a bodybuilder, but all those years of sitting at corporate desks had left him feeling like soft white bread. Time for a change!

He kept a close eye on his friend during these first few weeks, wanting to make sure Lovino hadn't repented of his big life-changing plan, making sure the brunet wasn't fearful of living in a new city. But it seemed that throwing off the memories of the clinic had done Lovino a world of good; Arthur noticed that almost immediately he started acting confident again, laughing and rudely joking, not acting withdrawn and shy. This pleased him. He was quite happy in the new life, stress-free as it was, and didn't want Lovino to panic and demand they return to Seattle (or even DC). Worse yet – what if Lovino repented of speaking to Arthur, and wanted to go back to the States alone? By now the Brit couldn't even fathom life without his friend. He had to make sure Lovino was stable and happy.

And so their life went on for a while, with nothing special happening. They simply worked on carving themselves a routine and sticking to it. Their nights were calm and peaceful, like two old men sharing an apartment. Arthur knew that would change soon, though he wasn't quite certain how it would come about. He knew it was up to him to make the first move, though.

A few weeks later, it was very hot at the job site, and during a break the Brit took off his t-shirt and poured some water over himself to cool down. His tattoos were second nature to him by now, and he hadn't thought about what it would look like to show them off so blatantly in the bright light of day. But before the water had even finished cascading down his sweaty torso, the wolf whistles began. He blushed and smirked a little, shaking his hair to get the drops out, and several of the other workers came over to examine and admire the designs.

"Where did you get them done?" a Russian chap asked him. "Here in Toronto?"

"No. My friend is a tattoo artist. We lived in DC at the time."

"That's too bad, da?" the Russian, named Ivan, told him. "I'd have liked to get a tattoo."

Hmm. Some food for thought. Maybe Lovino would be interested in doing them freelance, without the burden of his own studio. "I can ask," he offered.

"Thank you." Ivan nodded politely, but before they could speak further, the foreman came out of the office and blew his whistle, and so everyone had to get back to work. Arthur struggled back into his sweaty shirt and thought about tattoos, which of course made him think about Lovino. Intensely. For the entire rest of the work day.

As the workers put their safety vests and hard hats away in their lockers, one of them tiptoed up to Arthur. "Your friend, does he, like, live here now?"

"It's…Feliks, right?" Arthur clarified. Upon receiving a nod from the pixie-like worker, he continued, "Yes. We just moved here a few weeks ago."

Feliks lowered his voice. "Will you ask him if he'll – y'know," he giggled, "tattoo my ass?" He giggled some more and craned to try to see his own arse.

"I'll ask. I just don't know if he wants to get back into doing it commercially or not." He smiled. "I know he tattooed his little brother's at some point. A plate of pasta, I think."

"That's, like, so cute! Okay, well, totally ask him, okay!" Feliks hurried off, still giggling.

Arthur headed for home in a very thoughtful frame of mind, stopping at a drugstore to make a few purchases, which he tucked into the pocket of his jacket. He and Lovino would have a lot to talk about tonight.

…

After they'd gone shopping for the week's groceries, Lovino collapsed onto one of the beanbags. "I'm beat."

"Me too." Arthur stepped around behind him and knelt, kneading his friend's shoulders. "Though I would argue that construction work is a _little_ more tiring than petting kittens all day."

"Bastard," Lovino snorted. "They make me do all the stock work. I'm lifting fifty-pound bags of dog food all day." He stretched and squirmed in the chair under Arthur's ministrations. "That feels really good. Keep doing it."

The blond leaned forward and murmured warmly into his ear. "I always want to make you feel good."

He felt his friend still, not even breathing, and then the Italian leaned back and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. "Okay," he said softly. "Make me feel good."

Not needing a second invitation, Arthur's lips touched Lovino's skin for the first time ever, as he began to kiss the side of his neck, slowly and lightly. From the corner of his eye he saw Lovino's hands clenching and unclenching. The tan skin was slightly salty, and very delicious. Soon Arthur took his friend's hands and helped him stand up, embracing him. They began to kiss each other, at first gently and then with desperation, two lovers finally finding sanctuary with each other.

…

Together in the big fancy bed, they rested after their labors. "Why tonight all of a sudden?" Lovino asked him, nestling close.

Arthur explained about the intense interest his coworkers had shown in his tattoos, and how it had distracted him all day, making him think about Lovino's body art. He rolled the Italian onto his back and propped himself up to get a better look at him. "You are so bloody beautiful."

"So are you, bastard. In fact I'd argue you're even more beautiful than I am, because all _your_ art was done by me. My idiot brother did most of mine." He laughed a bit and ran a hand over the thorny rose around his own navel.

"Fine by me. I'm the most beautiful." Arthur preened like a supermodel and they chuckled together. "But seriously, a lot of the gits at work were really interested. Two of them want to know if you'll do tattoos for them."

"Don't see why not. We just need to find a place to do it."

"Mph. Yeah. I don't want a bunch of strange chaps lying around on our bed while you tattoo them!"

Lovino drew him closer. "Don't talk about anybody else while we're in this bed, stupid. Let me make _you_ feel good now."

"Mm…fine by me…"

…

A few days later Lovino headed to the construction site at the end of the day. "Hi, bastard," he called out, waving.

"Hi! Ivan's not here today, but hang on a second, I'll see if I can find Feliks." Arthur ran off to look for the young Polish worker.

While the brunet waited outside, a tall blond man with glasses came out of the office, slapping a hard hat onto his head. "Who are you? What are you doing on the job site?" he scowled. "No loitering!"

"Just waiting for a friend." Lovino didn't want to get Arthur in trouble with this corn-fed bastard, so he backed off a little.

The man watched him suspiciously from the office doorway, but didn't speak again. Arthur and the other guy came back together and headed right for Lovino. "Hey. Feliks, this is Lovino; Lovino, Feliks. He's the one who wants a tattoo on his – er –"

Both the others laughed. "Totally. Can you do a phoenix for me?"

"I can do anything you like," Lovino bragged, though it was true. "I need to look at phoenix pictures first, though. It'll have to be a house call, too, because I don't have a place to work at our apartment. It's too small." This was a lie he and Arthur had concocted together, to keep all the bastards out of their place.

"That's, like, all right. You can come to my place. When can we do it, and how much?"

Here, the foreman (whom they'd all been ignoring) wandered over. "What are you talking about? If you're buying drugs from this man –"

But they all burst out laughing. "No! I'm totally going to get a tattoo! Arthur's friend, L-Lovino? Is, like, a tattoo artist. He's the one who did, you know, all of Arthur's body art." Feliks flapped a hand towards Arthur, who hastily lifted his shirt hem to show a brief glimpse of his koi and the other designs.

The young foreman's attitude changed dramatically and he whipped the hard hat off his head. "Dude, why didn't you say?" he wailed. "I have a tattoo and I always wanted to get more. Do you have a studio? How much do you charge? How long would I have to wait? If I wanted an American eagle on my bicep could you do it? Or a flag? Maybe a flag on the other bicep. Or an eagle with a waving flag behind it. No – wait, maybe I'd get it on my –"

"Alfred, slow down, please," Arthur suggested with a smirk. "Please?"

Alfred cleared his throat. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, man. But could you?"

Lovino laughed again. "Sure. Once I'm done with Feliks I'll ask Arthur to let you know."

"Cool!" The foreman was so excited he ran off into the office again, instead of doing whatever it was he'd come out to do.

"Goofy bastard," Lovino muttered. Turning back to Feliks, he asked, "We need to talk about the size, and location and all that shit. When did you want to get started? This weekend?" Today was Wednesday.

"Totally fine. I'll give Arthur my address tomorrow. I'm free all day Saturday so you can come do as much as possible! Can we, like, talk about it then?"

"Works for me. I'll bring some sketches. Take care," he laughed, as Feliks skipped away.

"Come on, git, let's get out of here."

"Yeah. I have to go get inks and shit."

"Well, then, let's go get inks and shit!"

…

The next few weeks at work were merry and fun, as if the construction workers were preparing for a festival of some sort. Many of them had expressed interest in Lovino's work, and those lucky few that he'd had time to deal with spent a lot of time showing off their new art and discussing the process. Arthur always grinned when he heard them bragging to each other. This past weekend Alfred had finally gotten his American eagle design (saving the flag for his other bicep), and he'd been completely neglecting his work duties in order to strut around the site with his sleeves rolled up, flashing it at everyone.

After lunch Arthur saw someone go into the office, but Alfred was still outside flexing his biceps in the sunlight. "Oi, somebody just went in there," the Brit told him.

Alfred checked his watch in a panic. "Oh, shit! It's the owner!" He rolled his sleeves back down and pelted over to the office.

"Shit," someone said. "Today's the owner's day to stop by and check up on us." Everyone hurriedly got to work. Arthur craned his neck a few times, but didn't see either Alfred or the owner emerge before the end of the day.

…

The following Thursday, Lovino came by the job site to see if anyone wanted a tattoo this weekend. He'd been very happy, being able to do his art, make these construction bastards happy, and earn extra money. When they'd first moved here, they'd lived off Arthur's savings; as a single corporate worker, the blond had made a lot of money and rarely had anything (or anyone) to spend it on. This, of course, had made Lovino feel guilty. Now, though, he finally felt as though they were equals, or at least approaching it. He'd bought a bottle of champagne and some fancy-ass chocolates for the weekend. Didn't know if Arthur liked that shit, but he'd felt romantic, so…champagne and fancy-ass chocolates it would be!

Arthur walked up to him before any of the others could. "Hey. The – the owner wants to see you in the office," he said quietly. "I really hope we're not going to get in trouble for this."

Lovino blanched. "Shit. You mean you bastards aren't doing your work right?"

They walked towards the office together. "That's not it. We're all working just as well as before. I think maybe he just doesn't appreciate this; it might be soliciting or something. Earning business from his private property, kind of thing? Just stay calm. I'll stay with you, unless he tries to send me away."

The Italian nodded and opened the office door.

Inside, the owner – who actually resembled Alfred a great deal – turned at their approach and smiled. "Hello, Arthur. And this is your friend? My name's Matthew Williams. I own the construction company."

"H-hi," Lovino stammered; this didn't sound like they were in trouble. "I'm Lovino."

"Alfred tells me you're a tattoo artist."

The Italian, swallowing nervously, managed a nod.

"I wanted to ask you whether you could fit me into your schedule. I've seen some of the work you've done around here, and it's breathtaking." Williams smiled softly. "I've always been much too chicken to go to a real tattoo parlor." He began to pace around the small office. "I heard there was a place in Washington, DC, that was nice and clean and open. Vargas Clinic? Something like that. I wanted to go there, but apparently they're out of business now."

Lovino broke into anguished laughter so loudly and suddenly that it frightened even himself; he didn't notice Williams' shock as he laughed, first, and then began to cry. Arthur's arms came around him, supporting him; he felt like a fucking ass, crying in front of this big shot businessman, but oh, all that pain came right back to him and he couldn't do anything but cry.

"I'm sorry," he heard Williams say in a panic. "I'm so sorry! What's wrong?"

Arthur held Lovino and tried to soothe him, and responded, "That was Lovino's clinic. He and his brother ran it."

"Oh," Williams said, deflating, and collapsed into a chair.

Lovino knew he had to stop this. He blotted his tears on the shoulder of Arthur's shirt, and took a few deep breaths before turning back to Williams. "I'm sorry too," he apologized. "I should have a better – better grip on my fucking emotions." He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Please forgive me." Williams looked up from the chair with a troubled expression. "But – but if you can stand to talk about it, I'd like to hear the story sometime."

"Cheh, well, maybe. Maybe if you get a tattoo I can work myself up to talk about it. Somewhere else." He felt so stupid, crying here!

"I do want one. When do you have free time?"

Lovino shrugged; Arthur had been acting like a secretary for him, scheduling all these bastards, and indeed, the Brit answered before he could ask. "Ivan's getting his this weekend, and then Toris next weekend. After that there's nothing scheduled. Do you want me to put you on the schedule?" Arthur's voice was brisk, efficient; Lovino was grateful he wasn't acting all sweet and sappy, because it would have made him cry more. But his friend knew that.

"Please," Williams said. "But only if it's all right with Lovino."

"It's all right ba—it's all right." Dammit, he didn't need to call Arthur's boss 'bastard'! He cleared his throat.

"Right, then, figure out what design you want, and let us know where you live, closer to the date." Arthur smiled at Williams. "Are we done here?"

"Hmm? Yes, thank you," Williams said, rising to shake a hand of each of them. "Have a good weekend, if I don't see you tomorrow. Please, take care. Again, I'm sorry I caused you distress."

"It'll be all right. Thanks." Lovino pulled Arthur out of the office – quickly, and hopefully not too rudely. "Do you need to do anything? Can we get the fuck out of here?"

Arthur pressed some bills into his hand. "Take a cab; go on home and relax. I have to stay until five. I'll come home as soon as I can, yes? Will you be all right?"

He sighed. "Yeah. Thanks. I – I probably ought to really sit down and think about all this. I've kind of pushed everything out of my head in the excitement of being with you, but…"

"I understand. Just remember I'll be there by 5:30, all right? Sooner if I can." Arthur leaned forward. "I'd give you a kiss, but there are all these other wankers around."

This made Lovino smile a little. "Thanks again, bastard. See you soon."

…

_I love making Mattie a high-powered businessman. _


	9. The Dream Redux

**Chapter 9. The Dream Redux.**

"I'm a little scared, bastard." Lovino dressed himself carefully, pulling on his black tank top and slipping into a pair of clean black jeans. He stared at his own reflection, amber eyes very nervous. Yet he couldn't help feeling a bit excited as well.

Arthur roughed up his blond hair with some molding paste and held the jar out, but Lovino shook his head no. The Brit too was clad a little roughly, in a red tank and jeans. "Don't worry about it. What could go wrong?" He turned from the mirror. "Before you start actually telling me all the things that could go wrong, just remember that it's not on you anymore. Right? It's Williams' risk. All you need to do is to do your art, and do it well."

"I will. You know that. It's all I've ever really wanted to do." The brunet finished lacing up his new kick-ass boots and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Thank you for everything, Arthur. Every single thing you've ever done for me, from the day you walked in my door."

Arthur kissed him briefly and then turned to hunt down his own new boots. "Anytime, sweetheart."

Lovino snorted. "At least you'll be all right, if something goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong! He's a seasoned businessman, all right? If he wants to try something like this, let him. If it helps you out along the way, that's fantastic." He finally found his boots and slipped into them. "Now come on. I want to pick up some coffee on the way. Are we meeting your brother and Ludwig there?"

"Yeah. They're both pretty excited."

"I'm not surprised. We're both pretty excited, too. Shift that bony arse of yours."

"Pfft. I'll get you for that." Lovino eyed Arthur's colorful bared arms critically. Yeah, the bastard looked great. Maybe this would work out after all.

…

They stood in the parking lot, eying the place, before a quick clasp of their hands for luck. "Well, this is it," he muttered.

"Settle down, git. You've already got six customers lined up, and that's just for today. For _you._ Feli has four."

"How the fuck do you know that?" He turned to Arthur in amazement.

"Because I'm the bloody admin! Of course I know what's going on."

Feliciano and Ludwig came out of the door, Feli beckoning madly. "Come in, _fratello! _Come in, ve!"

Lovino strode forth to greet his little brother, and the dumbass potato bastard, and Williams. As he embraced Feliciano, he took a deep breath. Hopefully Studio Vargas would work out all right.

…

Matthew Williams liked to flirt with new business ideas. When he'd first heard of the Vargas Brothers Tattoo Clinic, he'd seriously considered a Washington vacation in order to get body art done in a nonthreatening environment. A shy man, he would rather have gone without a design than nerve himself up to visit a parlor in some stranger's basement. The news that the VBTC had shut down had affected him badly. For the first time in his life, the Canadian man had begun to imagine himself bold and badass, a maple leaf design across his upper back, wowing the women…and then the opportunity had slipped through his fingers.

When he'd understood that Arthur's friend had actually been the owner of that clinic, he'd been almost feverish with excitement. At first it was the excitement of finally getting a tattoo – in the comfort of his own home, no less – but it very quickly became the excitement of a new business plan.

At their first session he'd discussed the logistics of the clinic with Lovino, who had gotten over his pain and emotion on the subject. At their second session he'd tentatively felt the young Italian out, regarding a new business. Lovino had been very firm about not wanting to open a new place.

"Ah, but," Williams had said, "what if I opened the business? Took all the financial risk, did the marketing, purchased the supplies? All you'd need to do is show up and put your striking designs on the willing bodies of the clients."

"But what if no clients come?" Lovino had countered with a frown.

"That's my problem. It's a business risk I'm willing to take. I think you and your brother had an excellent idea."

"But it failed. Badly."

"Not necessarily." When Williams had said this, Lovino's scowl had intensified. "Hear me out. First of all, you were in a city new to you, not necessarily savvy to the areas that would welcome a service like yours. Then, too, I have the financial support to keep it open for a few years. New businesspeople often throw in the towel much too soon."

"But we had no money!"

"Shh, I understand. Please, listen. I'm not criticizing what you did. I'm more interested in moving forward. I know how and where to market it. You, maybe you chose the wrong kind of targets for your marketing. And certainly I can afford to hire a few more people, so that you don't have to hang around all the time and deal with phone calls and supplies and things."

Lovino's immediate response was "I have to talk to Arthur about this."

"That's fine. Do you think he'd like to work there?"

"No idea." Lovino had bit his lip. "My – my brother didn't get to live his dream, either," he said quietly. "Could he come work there?"

Williams had smiled softly. "If he's willing to cover his move to Toronto, that's fine. If I'm setting up a new establishment, I can't afford to pay for his relocation. But yes. From what I can see on your arms, his designs are just as good as yours, and I'm sure he'd be an asset. People always work better when they get along personally, rather than being thrown together randomly through hiring."

"I'll give it some thought."

And Lovino had given it thought, had talked to Arthur, had telephoned Feli and spoken to him in frantic Italian about the idea. Feliciano had spoken to Ludwig. Everyone had agreed that if the onus was on Williams, there was no reason not to try.

But Feliciano didn't want to leave Ludwig; they were so in love. And so the potato bastard had made a sacrifice for Feli just as Arthur had done for Lovino. The policeman had given up his job in Washington and moved to Toronto to be a bouncer of sorts. Arthur would do the secretarial work, accounting, and purchasing, Ludwig the heavy lifting, errands, and customer relations, and all that the Vargas brothers had to do was develop custom designs and put them on paying customers. Of course Williams wanted free tattoos for life, and Lovino had obviously agreed. You don't bite the hand that feeds you.

It had all sounded much too good to be true. But they were all here, and it was time to get to work. Lovino cracked his knuckles, met his brother's eye, and smiled.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue.**

Liz sat up dreamily in bed, tucking the lacy pink sheet around her breasts, and reached for the remote. She ignored the sound of running water and baritone singing that came from her bathroom, and scrolled through her recorded television shows.

Aha! This month on the Travel Channel they'd been showcasing tattoo parlors around North America. Liz loved boys with tattoos, and had barely been able to restrain herself from attacking Arthur Kirkland the first time she'd seen his body art peeking out from the cuffs of his sleeves. Luckily she hadn't; she didn't know whether she could turn a gay man straight! She giggled and started this week's recording.

Seven minutes into the show she started fidgeting; these men were all so attractive! "Ooh," she moaned a little, dropping the remote.

But then the young woman sat up straighter, staring at the television with her eyes bugging out. "Hey! _Hey! _Come here!" she yelled.

Gilbert came running in, dripping wet, naked but for a towel around his waist. "What? What?"

She pointed at the TV. "Look! Is that Arthur?"

He knelt on the bed, heedless of the water soaking into the expensive silk coverlet. "Kirkland?" Together they peered at the blond man behind the desk. "Looks it. I didn't know he had tattoos, though."

"Mm." Liz licked her lips and pulled her lover down to sit on the bed. "I knew he had some, but not like that. And there's his boyfriend that I told you about! Wow. Look at all those guys!"

Gilbert squinted a bit as a tall blond man – taller than Arthur by several inches – appeared on screen. "_Meine Güte!_ I think that's West! I can't fucking believe it!" He punched the bed and began bouncing up and down; his towel fell off, and he ignored it.

"Who is 'West'?"

"Ah, my cousin. We always called him West because he when he was little had this dumb fetish about always facing west when he went to bed. He tried calling me 'East' for a while, but it never caught on. Kesesese! This is awesome! Where is this place?"

"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention."

Gilbert scooped up the remote and paused the show so they could read the program information. "Studio Vargas," he read, and Liz chimed in with "Toronto, Canada."

They looked at each other with excitement flaring in their eyes. _"Road trip!" _

…

_Just a little fun way to wrap it up. Thanks for reading!_

_"Meine Güte" is an expression like "My goodness!" _


End file.
